What Friends are For
by flah7
Summary: Beckett’s a bit under the weather and Sheppard and McKay are there to help, kind of, in their own manner more like under duress.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** What Friends are For

**Author:** HeatherF

**Disclaimers:** Not mine, no money made etc.

**Warnings**: Don't think so.

**Spoilers:** Misbegotten (just a bit)

**Characters:** Beckett, McKay, Sheppard

**Rating:** G

**Summary:** Beckett's a bit under the weather and Sheppard and McKay are there to help, kind of, in their own manner; more like under duress.

**Thanks:** NT (she' reads wicked fast and is frightfully smart---she doesn't have to sound out words like I do).

Any and all mistakes are mine---unless they aren't.

* * *

**Part 1**

"Hey, Doc, you in there?" Sheppard signaled the door chime multiple times in rapid succession hoping to achieve the greatest amount of irritability in the shortest amount of time.

He was good at it; almost as good as Rodney.

Sheppard shared a glee filled smirk with McKay. They knew Beckett was in his quarters.

A muffled, "No," whined its way under and around the closed door.

"Come on, Carson, open the door," Rodney demanded with his own personalized brand of impatience.

"Go away." The short phrase had lost some of its bite before it limped its way toward the two potential intruders.

"He sound like he's whining to you?" the colonel asked as his smirk grew into a toothy grin.

"Carson, we haven't got all night," Rodney reached across in front of the Colonel and swiped his hand across the door chime repeatedly. "Open the door already."

The repeated peal of the chime sounded impatient and offensive even out in the corridor.

"No. Go away." The soft beleaguered response twisted its way around the door and conveyed an air of pathetic hopelessness not often heard from a healthy adult.

That was the kicker. Carson wasn't on the top of his game. He had missed the morning meeting, contacting Elizabeth minutes before the start and begged an absence. He carefully pleaded with Biro to cover his duty shift, promising that if he couldn't pull his rotation in the infirmary, then he would not go to his lab either. He had hoped to keep his voice just dull enough to beg off his duty rotation, but healthy enough not to garner a visit from anyone, especially his staff. He had not been seen at lunch, skipped out on observing Teyla's late afternoon training session and was ostensibly missing at supper.

Misery might love company, but apparently not today.

"We're coming in, Doc, make yourself decent." Sheppard grinned and used his security clearance to override the lock.

"Oh God, please be decent," McKay quietly begged as he stepped through the open door his hand up over his brow, just incase.

He followed Sheppard into the room and slowly stopped. Heat wrapped around him like a cloying blanket.

"Ach, go away," Carson muttered from his bed, pulling his thin blanket up over his head hiding his face but exposing his bare feet.

"Doc, you look like shit," Sheppard stated, stepping over and between a discarded standard issue off world coat and a still tied boot. A balled sock lay on Beckett's cluttered desk covering part of a data tablet. Its twin, like the left boot, was missing.

"Carson, this place is a mess," Rodney stated as he used a stylette to push a crinkled Carslberg t-shirt, complete with missing sleeves, off the back of a chair. It crumpled to the ground next to a worn sneaker with laces that never appeared to have been unknotted.

"Go away." The whine was no longer diluted by distance or the solid form of a closed door. It was as pathetic as it was pleading.

Sheppard stood over the unmade bed. The wilted bottom sheet had long lost its grip on the corners of the Ancients' version of a mattress. The middle sheet lay bunched and tangled under the heavier blanket all conveniently wrapped and tucked around the unmoving lump in the middle of the bed. A single pale foot, bony ankle and tapering shin were all that were visible.

"Sorry Doc," Sheppard answered. "We promised Biro that we'd look in on you."

"What's this 'we' business?" Rodney retorted, "I have important things that need done, not running around checking on people who don't have enough common sense to see a doctor when they're sick."

"Go away, Rodney." The muffled response lost some of its whine and garnered a little more bite.

"No can do, Doc," Sheppard answered and pulled the blanket up off Beckett's face.

Carson moaned and tucked his chin in closer to his chest, hiding it in the worn neck of his hooded sweatshirt. "Ach, you daft bugger, knock it off," Beckett groaned in discontent when a cool hand wrapped around his forehead for a bit and then knuckles pressed against his burning cheek.

The cold felt good, disturbingly refreshing to his flushed features. He groaned in despair and pulled the blankets back over his face and attempted to turtle his head into the hood of his well used sweatshirt. His little world turned dark and humid once again.

The room was chilly despite what his face thought.

"Rodney, he feel hot to you?"

Carson tried to ignore the Colonel's inquiry and tightened his grip on his covers. Why did Biro send these two down? Why did she send anyone? _Biro had spent too much time with formalin fixed tissues. The fumes were getting to her. Sheppard and McKay? These two would be as helpful and useful as throwing both ends of a rope to a drowning man._

"Do I look like a practitioner of voodoo?"

Beckett whimpered and groaned. _Case and point._ Maybe they would both just disappear.

"Nope, but you do look like the newest member of Sergeant's Pithe's waste management team." The grin in Sheppard's voice promised unforeseen recompressions.

It brought a little joy to Beckett's dark, stuffy little world of misery.

Sergeant Pithe had the unfortunate responsibility of safe guarding the liquid and semi-solid waste management teams that explored the damaged sections of the city. The ancients, for all their advancements and arrogance, were still functioning human beings. What went into a biological body, eventually came out in all sorts of different forms.

"You wouldn't dare?" Rodney challenged darkly.

"Radek could use some time off world and I was thinking of taking him with Ronon and Teyla and me the next few weeks, give you a little change of scenery."

Beckett's chapped lips threatened to crack under his spreading grin. He burrowed into his blanket and sheets a little more, tucking his fists under his chin a little tighter.

"Oh, that is so unfair." McKay's indignity would have been comical except it swirled around Beckett like toilet water spinning down the drain. "So incredibly unfair---I'm just saying," Rodney mumbled.

Carson curled tighter in his blankets, trying to cinch them close. What was unfair was having those two in his room when he felt so poorly. With blankets fisted, he valiantly attempted to seal himself off from the dubious aid of the dynamic duo.

They were like Batman and Robin's evil twins, The Wonder Twins but even more useless. They were Shoe Shine Boy or Underdog with distemper…Shaggy and Scooby too long without snacks.

_Oh,_ _God, he really was sick._

The grey hood tightened and stretched below his brow. It trapped more heat. His breath was hot against his lips and billowed back against his face failing to escape the tight confines of his blankets.

It was deliciously warm.

The wool blanket was lifted and pulled back. Cold air blasted the small of his back and snaked up around, stinging his midsection.

He shivered. The room was artic.

"Carson, where's your head?"

The chuckle from Sheppard had Rodney sputtering, "Oh, shut-up and get your mind out of the gutter."

Aching muscles tensed against the invasive brittle air. Precious heat was lost. Carson whimpered.

The blanket at his back was dropped. Room temperature air billowed under the wool and rushed up the front of his untucked sweatshirt and t-shirt. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to breathe through the discomfort. _It wasn't helping._

Breathe through the pain.

The breathing thing really didn't work at all. He'd have to remember that the next time he thought of suggesting it to someone else. _It was about as helpful as a glass of water to drowning man. _

_Breathing thing didn't work---except to breathe. _

Suddenly, the blanket lifted off his head and his hood was pushed back. Icy air needled his skin.

Breathe. Breathe through it. _Still not working._ His breath was hot against his dry lips. Probably smelly too.

A cold hand wrapped surprisingly gently around his forehead. It sat for a moment, then left to re-manifest on his cheek. The cool touch felt refreshingly good. _Not a good sign._

He groaned.

Rodney groaned.

"That a yes?" Sheppard's question sounded suspiciously more like a confirmatory statement.

The blanket was dropped unceremoniously back over Carson's head.

He heard the two move off. Maybe they'd leave all together. He'd get some sleep and feel better in the morning.

Things almost always looked better in the morning, unless they looked worse.

Beckett just wanted to cry when he heard the beginnings of a whispered argument near his bedside. They hadn't moved very far. Their continued proximity was dire news on so many different levels. The most important one being they were still within his quarters.

Couldn't Laurel and Hardy take their sideshow somewhere else? _Like another planet._ He chuckled to himself amused at the truth of the statement. His chest tightened with his mirth. _Not so good._

Beckett waited a moment. The ache in his chest dissipated.

The argument, however, continued in close proximity to his bed. He peeked out from under his blanket and around the dipped rim of his sweatshirt hood and scanned the immediate area with one eye, hoping to spot something to throw. The nightstand was too far away to reach. He had nothing within easy reach which he could utilize as a projectile weapon. His impatience with the noise grew.

Breathe….He tried breathing through his impatience.

Breathe…._useless command._

Carson moaned in his most pathetic manner, putting everything he had into it, hoping the other two would pick up on the clue and leave. The argument remained ostensibly close to his bedside and only picked up in volume despite the whispered tones.

He sobbed in frustration. His chest hurt. Ached actually, not any worse than every other muscle in his body but different. It made his throat hurt, kind of, but more in a premonition type manner.

Carson curled tighter into his blankets trying to drag his chilled exposed foot up under the knotted blankets. He moaned louder hoping to break through the animated conversation near his bed. Maybe one of the veritable geniuses would invoke their great powers of observation and cover his foot. He'd probably die of frost bite first.

A desperate broken sob coughed free.

"Hey, Carson, quiet down," Rodney reprimanded.

Beckett groaned in despair and with monumental effort rolled over, putting his back to the two intruders.

His blankets failed to follow in an orderly fashion. Cold air tickled his lower back. He sobbed his frustration.

'

"Hmm, 39.2C. That's respectable." There was a pause, "102.6 F, in your world, Colonel. Yes, I would agree he has a fever."

Beckett ignored the disembodied tinny voice and swiped heavily at whatever pulled on his ear. It hurt—kind of but not really.

A heavily gloved hand grabbed his wrist and stilled it.

Carson moaned and tried to twist his hand free, but gave up after a partial attempt. He opened his eyes and discovered they were gritty and dry and burned. Everything was fuzzy. Shapes moved about and voices whispered, some quieter than others.

Rodney was loud. Sheppard was loud too but not quite as invasive. He thought he heard Biro over a speaker. _Oh God, those two idiots called Biro._ He whimpered. It sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

"Oh, he is so not stoic," Rodney muttered from somewhere unseen.

"Neither are you, McKay," Sheppard added from close by. Carson blinked. With blurry vision he found and stared at the Colonel for a bit, giving tired eyes a chance to focus. The colonel wore his typical dark grey uniform with the black shoulder fronts that designated his military bearing. He rested his hands on his belt, pushing his coat back with his elbows exposing the black t-shirt underneath. There were a lot of dark colors.

Sheppard returned Carson's scrutinizing, albeit glazed stare and offered a jut of the chin, "How ya doin', Doc?"

Carson grunted and narrowed his stare. Sheppard and McKay had to be responsible for his predicament. Somehow. He just wasn't sure how.

"Oh, he's awake again?" Rodney strode over to the opposite side of the bed and leaned over. He waved his hand in front of Beckett's eyes a few times. Carson watched the blurring hand with some amusement. McKay gave up waving his hand and loudly snapped his fingers a few times, "Carson?—Hey, Carson?"

Instinctively, Beckett blinked and then stared back at Rodney. The man was all movement. McKay bore the appearance of both overwhelming concern and barely contained frustration. Carson closed his eyes for a bit hoping they would all disappear, or better yet just himself. His breath felt hot on his fuzzy teeth.

Rodney stepped back, giving Biro room as she worked. McKay continued to stare at Beckett. Even with Carson's eyes closed, the astrophysicist could appreciate the discomfort manifested in the red puffy rims with dry skin that cracked and peeled with the building fever. The fact he slept in a thick heavy grey sweatshirt and sweat pants under a wool blanket only gave credence to the fact the man was ill.

Carson moaned again just to make sure they knew how uncomfortable he was at the moment.

McKay felt a touch of concern for Beckett. What if this was contagious?

McKay stepped back even further. He felt a healthy, protective concern for his own well being and thus the well being of Atlantis. No one could afford Rodney McKay getting sick. He backed up another step, when Biro pushed Carson's sweatshirt sleeve up above the elbow, exposing the pale thin skin of the doctor's inner arm. McKay rubbed at his own band-aid arm. The medical department was comprised of vampires.

Something was cinched tight around Beckett's bicep. It pulled his wandering attention back to the rubber orange suited and helmeted person that loomed over him. _Biro, bio-containment---just fantastic. _He wasn't that sick.

"Why don't you let us be the ones to determine that," a microphone projected voice stated with a hint of tiredness.

Carson hadn't meant to speak out loud. _Maybe a worm had eaten into his brain. It would explain the headache. _

"You have a headache?" The orange helmet tilted slightly to the left.

_Maybe_? Carson thought, trying to transmit his thoughts to the figure sitting beside him. Biro. It had to be Biro. He tried to focus his thoughts and beam them over to her. It hurt his head, he didn't try too hard.

"Doctor Beckett, do you have a headache?"

_So they can't read my mind. Maybe the helmet was blocking them. _

"Doc, Biro can't read your mind," Sheppard helpfully pointed out.

Beckett rolled heated bloodshot eyes and stared at Sheppard. _Maybe his thoughts ricocheted off the helmet and hit the Colonel instead. That wouldn't be very good. Maybe they all could read his mind—or maybe not._ _It was all so confusing. Who could read who's mind and who could not. _

"Carson, no one and I mean no one can read that jumbled mess you call a mind." Rodney's exasperation was almost elegant.

Carson defaulted to a response he knew some would understand; He groaned. Everything hurt and he needed more sympathy and less people staring at him.

There was a tinny sigh, "Does that mean, 'Yes', you have a head ache?"

Beckett frowned a little, which took minimal effort, and carefully nodded his head. It pulled his hair that was folded and gnarled in his sweatshirt hood. It sparked of discomfort.

A heavy hand gently applied pressure to the back of his skull, forcing his chin to his chest.

_Haha, it didn't hurt. So there. Not meningitis or any of its relatives. _

The hand left and he heard a notes being scribbled on a chart.

He stared at Sheppard and then McKay trying to fathom how those two were responsible for his predicament.

The orange containment suit tapped his shoulder. That hurt.

He moaned for effect.

Rodney's heavy disgusted sigh brought a smile to Carson's heated face. The dry flaking skin on his lips pulled and cracked. It hurt. He moaned again, putting more feeling into it. His smile stretched when he witnessed Rodney toss his hands in the air in disgust and walk away.

Sheppard smirked. He stood hipshot at the end of the bed with his arms crossed. He returned Beckett's stare with a smile and shake of his head.

A gloved hand with a duct taped wrist re-directed Carson's chin to his right. He was the patient so it was his right, not the containment suit's right. His own. His very own.

He was then told to make a fist.

Carson straightened his fingers.

Sheppard chuckled somewhere near the foot of his bed. The containment suit issued a heavy put upon sigh.

It wasn't fair, it certainly wasn't cooperative, but honestly Carson really didn't care. He just wanted left alone to wallow in his own misery, balancing between uncomfortably hot, unbearably cold and aching in so many different places that the word diffuse took on its true meaning.

A textured rubber gloved hand rolled his fingers into a fist for him and held it while the sharp bite of a needle slid home just distal to the crook of his elbow.

It hurt and he felt it his due to let them all know just how uncomfortable he felt.

He moaned adding a little more plaintiveness to it. It took more effort than he cared to exert but he didn't like taking orders.

The orange helmet shook its head and tsked. Definitely had to be Biro.

Carson tried to stare in through the plexiglass of the faceplate to get a good look at the person behind the protective clothing, but his eyes ached and refused to focus properly and to be honest he really didn't care at the moment who sat beside him.

It wasn't his mum, so he didn't have to act like he felt fine, he didn't have to be stoic and work to cover an illness so as not to worry her.

It certainly wasn't one of his brothers or sisters. Thank the Lord for small favors. He loved his family, loved them dearly, but tender hand holding, and head hugging, without satire just wasn't apart of the Beckett family genetic make up.

He smiled at the semi-fond memories. Semi-fond memories were like semi-sweet chocolate. They often times were better when mingled with other things and consumed in moderation.

But this wasn't his mum who sat beside him, so he groaned and raised a heavy hand to his forehead for dramatic effect.

It wasn't his brothers or sisters that chuckled and sighed in exasperation just out of sight so he groaned and rolled onto his aching side, pulling his blankets tight under his chin with exhausted movements which herald weakness born of great illness.

Feverish heat was trapped under the blanket, radiating from his body and superheating the confined space. It felt both fantastically warm but frightfully uncomfortable. It was a paradox he couldn't quite fathom and was reduced to moaning again.

"He is pathetic." Rodney's whine almost surpassed Beckett's own.

Carson groaned again, putting a little more lament into it, and pulled tighter into a ball. Heat blossomed as fevered legs cinched tighter to his sweatshirt covered midsection. His back ached almost as deeply as his downed hip and shoulder. He shivered. Exhausted muscles quivered, heat was generated and he felt himself fall a little more dehydrated.

The agony.

A mournful sob ached forth.

"Yes, yes he is," Biro agreed and risked gently patting Carson's blanketed shoulder. It elicited a faint, blanket muffled whimper.

Sheppard's amused chuckle drowned out Biro's.

"Well, gentlemen I shall see you in the morning. If he gets worse call us."

"What? What about us?" McKay's stuttered question was a verbal testament to his horror at the situation. "We're stuck here?"

"I thought that it would be clear to you, Dr. McKay and your enormous brain," Biro added with a hint of humor. "That you are under quarantine until we can determine that Dr. Beckett isn't contagious." She held up her little Igloo cooler hidden within a biocontainment bag that held their blood samples and wiggled it gently. "We will contact you in the morning."

"Shouldn't he be in the infirmary or something?"

Biro turned and stared at the huddled form curled in the center of the bed and then faced the two standing men. "No. Not yet."

She held up a gloved hand halting any outbursts. "It is better not to risk infecting the rest of the city and having it go lock down on us. Right now, whatever it is, is contained to this room, to Dr. Beckett specifically. Keep him consuming electrolyte drinks, help him maintain some hydration and you all should be fine….for now….I think."

Carson ignored the rest of the conversation that centered on him. Rodney demanded a second bed and his computer tablet. He hoped they fulfilled McKay's requests or everyone would be miserable for the next few hours.

Carson drifted off to an uncomfortable doze. _Maybe he did want his mum or even one of his brothers or sisters._

* * *

Rodney woke with a start. His eyes snapped open but he refused to move. Being an integral part of an off world team had taught him a few things. One of which, sudden movement often times alerted the enemy.

His eyes flew open, his heart slammed rapidly against his chest. He caught his breath and listened. Synapses began firing, recording and processing data faster than some computers and more efficiently than most grey matter found in other humans.

Rodney's brain was truly a marvel. What he lacked in physical dexterity and prowess he more than compensated for with mental agility. His brain traveled down and back and cross and through different paths of thoughts that most people never even dreamed about. Information and data was collected, processed, stored and sorted before most people recognized information lay before them.

Rodney was truly a brilliant, brilliant man, focused on science and only limited by his interests. Since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy his interests had expanded from just pure hard science and astrophysics to survival. In quick time, his mind sponged information specific to surviving, he gleamed bits from observation. Pieces fell into place under Sheppard's very own backhanded teaching style. He absorbed lessons from Ronon and Teyla and the others without realizing that his mind worked and sorted data even while he focused on other things at the time. The sections of his brain that dealt with survival had lain dormant and quiescent had a chance to flex their ability and stretch. And over the last three years, Rodney had proven to those of the original expedition, what a versatile, convoluted and truly gifted mind he truly possessed.

No one made mention of it, if they noticed. SGA-1 noticed Beckett had as had Weir and Zelenka, but they kept quiet. Rodney's ability might have grown and embraced new dimensions but so had his ego. And like his tenacity and gifted ability to learn, his ego too remained un-stunted. His ego had taken more than a few hits, but like the rest of Rodney McKay, it recovered, learned and grew. A blessing and a curse to those around him.

In the dark, shadows created by folding moonlight, Rodney McKay listened, without moving a muscle.

No breeze tickled the air, no leaves or branches clicked or tall prairie grasses waved. No sounds of night insects. Dull moonlight brightened a ceiling. An ancient ceiling. Atlantis.

Almost instantly he realized he lay on Beckett's couch in his small quarters. Carson was sick, they were stuck in quarantine and it didn't pay to be the nice guy. Nice guys got stuck in quarantine. A colossal waste of time. He could be working, or sleeping in his own quarters, in his own bed with his own stuff nearby.

In a huff, he kicked irritably at his blanket which did an insufficient job covering him and froze.

He stared at the moonlit outline of someone standing just at the side of the couch, coffee table at knee height, holding a bottle.

Flashing images of Wraith and mass murders came to mind racing his heart and stealing his breath. However, the dark shape was assessed, categorized and recognized just as quickly as any computerized retinal scanner.

"Carson?" Rodney watched the figure while reaching out with his socked foot and as discretely as possible kicked Sheppard's uncomfortably sprawled form in the cot near the foot of the couch. The cot with its central metal cross bar and paper thin striped mattress looked like a death trap when they first wheeled it in past the plastic curtains and barriers of quarantine parameters into Beckett's quarters. The computer tablet protected within its folded mattress however was as close to nirvana as Rodney was likely to get within the next 12-72 hours.

Rodney graciously let Sheppard have the cot while he suffered with the couch. The computer tablet just made his confinement and by default everyone else, that much more bearable.

"Carson?" Rodney slowly pushed himself up off the firm couch. He kicked Sheppard's cot a little more vigorously. The metal squeaked and shimmied under his socked assault.

"Michael was in my head." Beckett simply stated.

His non-sequitur had Rodney uttering a soft, "Oh shit."

Carson rubbed at the side of his head with the hand that grasped the plastic bottle of electrolyte mix. "Like stinging bees."

"Colonel?" McKay whispered nervously while keeping his eyes on Beckett's silhouette. With peripheral vision, he watched as Sheppard warily sat up, keeping his movements deliberately slow, letting blankets slide to the side of the cot.

"I heard," The colonel softly voiced. He kept his attention focused Beckett's dark hooded figure. "He there now, Doc?" Sheppard cautiously pushed himself into a seated position.

"Nay." The answer was barely more than a hushed breathed. He scrubbed at his head one more time, held the cool plastic bottle to his forehead before turning and shuffling the few feet back to his bed. He settled back down on the partially bared mattress, dropping the bottle to the floor with a muted plastic thunk and a contained splash. Beckett turned onto his side dragging his blanket tightly around his shoulders and back, leaving his legs and feet exposed and lay quietly on his side facing the windows. Silver tipped waves rolled and peaked across the blackened ocean. The bars of the Atlantian balcony marred his view. He couldn't hear the ocean swell and roll beneath him or crash against the piers. He couldn't hear the wind whisper over the sea. The night blackened water looked raw and cold. It made him shiver despite the fact his breath felt hot.

He wanted his mum. Sometimes being sick scared him. He didn't get sick. He didn't ever really feel unwell. Frequently tired, occasionally a little off his game, but rarely sick. In fact, he couldn't truly remember the last time he felt ill. Nothing a Tylenol or Motrin couldn't fix. He'd been injured and hurt a score of times pre and during Atlantis. Injuries, and what not, were inconvenient, troublesome but never truly worrisome or frightening. Not like being sick. Sick with fever, being disoriented and confused were hardships he had managed to avoid most of his life.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

He wanted his Mum nearby, but didn't want her too close. He didn't want to worry her, frighten her. His mum had grown fragile since being gifted with grandchildren. She was no longer the tough matriarch that whipped seven kids into line, got them off to school, to afternoon sports and made sure homework was done, chores completed and suppers eaten. His ole mum had mellowed with age. She deserved it.

He wanted one of his brothers close by, maybe. They'd torture him relentlessly sure, but they wouldn't let anyone else do it if they were here. They wouldn't have let fire ants crawl over his meningese. But he wouldn't want them near the Pegasus Galaxy either. The Wraith were here and were dangerous and his brothers had families.

It was wrong to wish his family were here, and he really didn't desire to be trapped in Scotland again, though he missed it so.

From his bed, bundled haphazardly under his blanket and head tucked into his sweatshirt hood, he watched the black ocean rise and heave. Swells rolled and pushed troughs along as wind kicked up silver white sprays of water. Ocean stretched for as far as his hot and gritty eyes could see. There wasn't a soul out on the ocean. Not this ocean. Not that he knew of, no fishermen, no trawlers, nothing. Nothing familiar. It was empty and harsh. It looked so cold and desolate.

His eyes felt about ready to boil in their own ocular juices. He blinked hoping to moisten them but managing to only captured more heat.

Being sick hurt on so many different levels.

He shifted trying to cover his feet, find a comfortable position and wish being sick didn't unnerve him as much as it did.

He wanted the safety, comfort and familiarity of home and family without really having to go home.

He closed his eyes, hoping that the darkness of night would pass and leach the illness with it.

Sheppard and McKay stared at one another through the darkness.

"Michael?" Rodney whispered.

"I know, McKay. I know." The colonel slid from his cot. It was strange how the floors at night didn't chill his feet. Though comfortable and certainly welcomed, it felt oddly strange. With McKay a step behind, they made their way over to Beckett's bed.

"Doc, Carson," Sheppard called, pushing at Beckett's shoulder. He watched somewhat disheartened as the doc's eyes blinked open and stared somewhat disoriented out the window. The confusion melted away to dejection when bloodshot eyes slowly swiveled to focus on him, as if expecting to see something and realizing it would never come to pass. Sheppard sometimes wondered why Carson left his home and family, but recognized the drive and commitment to his profession and research. Research he couldn't do back in Scotland, or even Earth.

Sheppard felt the same about flying.

He wouldn't want to live if he couldn't fly. He hoped he never faced that dilemma.

One of the many differences between Sheppard and Beckett was Carson seemed always to be welcomed back at his family home. Sheppard, and for a while even McKay, could boast no such thing. For Sheppard there was nothing to go back to. For McKay it had been burned bridges that had only recently been rebuilt.

Carson, they could only assume, would be welcomed at home with open arms. Sheppard wanted to know what that was like, but then thinking on Ford's grandparents, maybe he didn't. He wouldn't want to bring that kind of hurt down on someone that loved him so deeply.

It was a curse most times not having a family.

Sheppard stared at the crestfallen and sadden expression of his CMO and friend and believed having a family was at times a curse as well. Especially if you thought they would be standing beside you when you were down, only to find strangers in their place.

But he wasn't a stranger to Carson.

He had let it slip once, in a moment of weakness, that there were those in this city he would do anything for. The realization was terrifying, knowing that he acted in accordance to that realization was both a relief and frightening. He would throw everything away again, his career, his life, everything to save them.

He knew he accepted McKay, Dex, Teyla and Beckett as family. That was enough for him. It was all very black and white, crisp sharp edges. They didn't have to reciprocate, nor did he expect them to. But he knew that they would.

He never thought to consider if Beckett saw them as family as well. They weren't his brothers or his sisters. Not in the truest sense. But they were friends. He wasn't a part of their off world team, didn't have that deep connection and tight bond that entangled and entwined the members of the different exploration teams.

It didn't make him any less important, it didn't exclude him as one of them.

However, it did keep him apart.

And maybe, in the deep dark of a morning that still dappled in the depths of a late night, under the grip of a relentless fever, Beckett perceived a difference.

Sheppard and McKay weren't his family, and he wasn't a part of their off world team.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see family, and older brother maybe, but instead found someone else. The gulf of disappointment was readable. The colonel felt a sting of sadness. When Sheppard realized he was recognized, the look of relief on Carson's shadowed features was enough to assuage the momentary pain of remorse.

Somehow being sick was both painful and isolating on levels Sheppard had never considered before. Emotions and fear were laid raw.

"Carson, when was Michael in your head?" The fear of the Wraith having created some kind of connection with Beckett had been a concern since the fiasco a few months ago. There had been no evidence of such a thing, but there was so much they didn't know. And how could they successfully search for, even find, when they didn't understand what they hunted.

"In the tent," Beckett mumbled. He scrubbed at his hooded head, closing his eyes and felt the heat build.

"Back on the planet?" the colonel clarified.

"Like fire ants," Carson whispered as if revealing a distressing secret. He rubbed irritably at the side of his head. A strong grip stopped his staccato movements and gently but firmly brought his arm back to the mattress. Fever waved through the thick material.

"It hurt." Beckett drew his legs a little closer to his midsection.

Sheppard and McKay shared worried looks. Their concern not lost in the shadows of night.

Rodney cautiously reached down and carefully covered Beckett's bare feet with the crinkled and twisted sheet.

"I bet it did," Sheppard commiserated. A queen had been inside his head briefly. It had hurt, like sharp fingernails clawing through his brain. It had been frightening as well as unsettling.

Silence draped the darkened room. Moonlight streamed in from the Atlantis starry sky casting a silvery hue over furniture and deepening dark pools of shadows.

"Go to sleep, Carson," Sheppard quietly ordered. He patted the doctor's forearm in reassurance. He hid his surprise when Beckett's hand curled around his wrist and held on tightly. Dry heat emanated from the grip. Sheppard merely squatted beside the bed and returned the hold. "Hey, Carson, listen to me. Michael can't reach you here. I promise."

Bloodshot eyes stared solidly at him as if measuring his mettle. The colonel returned the look unflinching. He wasn't Beckett's brother, older or younger, stronger or smarter. They weren't family.

Sheppard wouldn't pretend to be something or even attempt to fill the shoes of the herd of brothers Carson had back on Earth. But he would protect Carson. Watch out for him when he couldn't do it for himself. Sheppard would do it because he was that good a friend. And Carson would do it for him. Had done it for him.

It's what friends did.

Rodney, of all of them, was the best at it. _The bastard._

The colonel shook his head and almost chuckled.

McKay had a social ineptness that should have been catalogued. He commanded the least understanding to the working dynamics of groups, but constantly outshone everyone when things became life and death. He stood up to grave threats with knocking knees, knew full well the danger he put himself in time and time again to save others, with the least understanding as to why he did it. He understood the dangers, but failed to realize the dynamics of the rewards. For a brilliant genius that outshone two galaxies, he was at times a moron. A social misfit. But a hell of a good friend.

Sheppard watched as the doctor's face slowly relaxed, his breathing shallowed out and sleep slipped in and settled over him. The Colonel remained squatting for a few more seconds, making sure his movements wouldn't wake the physician before extracting himself from the lax grip and straightening up.

"We should call Biro." Rodney stood cast in shadows, shirt untucked from rumpled pants and gnawed on the edge of his thumb.

"There's nothing she's going to do tonight." Sheppard reached down and felt Beckett's forehead. "Besides he doesn't feel any hotter right now."

"That is just so inaccurate," McKay pointed out.

"Rodney, they won't do anything tonight." Sheppard checked the illuminant dials on his watch. "This morning," he corrected himself. "It'll be light in a few hours and they'll be here." Sheppard backed away from the bed. "Just get some shut eye."

"What are you going to do?"

Sheppard backed away from the bed, circled around it and headed for his cot. "Get some sleep."

The astrophysicist, bathed in moonlight, continued to stand at the foot of the bed and stare at Beckett all the while gnawing on the side of his thumb.

"McKay," Sheppard said as he shifted his partially puddled blankets from the floor and flipped them over his legs. "It's just a cold of some kind. He's going to be fine."

"Fine? He's has stinging bees in his head." McKay nailed Sheppard with a glare, "or did you miss that part?"

"It was back on the planet. Not here," Sheppard pointed out tightly.

"Whatever. He remembers it." There was a slight pause and then, "I wish he would go back to not remembering." Rodney mumbled.

"Me too," the colonel whispered settling back against his pillow. He watched McKay's body language and knew the minute Rodney made a decision. It was no surprise when the scientist sat down at Beckett's desk and powered up his tablet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2 **(there really wasn't suppose to be a part 2...here you go)

Sheppard leaned one shoulder against the glass doors leading to out to balcony that abutted Beckett's room. He listened half heartedly to Major Lorne's update on the findings and disappointments from the returning off world teams.

He picked absently at the new band-aid that was nestled uncomfortably in the crook of his arm.

He tried ignoring the slight struggle going on behind him.

Biro had her hands full trying to measure Beckett's temperature with an ear thermometer. He had spiked 103.2 F a few hours before sunrise, just about the same time a dry cough started irritating an already sore throat. Beckett had spiraled to a level of discomfort that leached its way to encompass both Rodney and Sheppard.

They were not leaving Beckett's quarters anytime in the near future.

At least the quarantine kept him from having to file reports.

That was a plus. About the only positive thing in this whole situation. That and having meals delivered, though honestly he'd rather walk down to the dining hall. Their breakfast trays were neatly stacked near the door. Both Rodney and his plates were empty, keeping still apparently didn't taper an appetite. Beckett had none and merely rolled over so his back faced the meal tray that rested on his bed. Sheppard nor McKay fought him on it. If he didn't want to eat, so be it. Carson knew what he needed and didn't need. They skipped lunch. Dinner would be interesting. The cooks were doing their best to entice Beckett's appetite. Both and he and Rodney might actually get to ride the coat tails of sympathy card Carson had unknowingly pulled.

"No, Major, put Ronon with Eddings, not Mitchell," Sheppard sighed and wanted to beat his forehead against the glass in frustration but feared it would spark Biro's interest. Instead, he settled for resting his forehead against the cool glass and watched the rhythmic passing of ocean swells.

Sleep remained elusive for Beckett. He bordered on exhausted but between the cough, sore throat, and aching muscles he managed only snippets of sleep and spent the rest of the time tossing and turning and moaning.

The damn man sounded like a 1-900 number, but without the potential for personal reward.

It was all very frustrating. Sheppard turned his attention back to the sea. They say watching fish swim in an aquarium was relaxing for the observer. Ocean swells were apparently no substitute and he was beginning to develop a little empathy for fish trapped in bowls.

Sheppard watched as a wave peaked into a white cap.

Lorne's voice still rattled on about potential success of attaining a wheat-like seed from a planet with a space orbiting gate.

The excitement was going to kill him. _God, his thoughts were becoming sarcastic._

The Colonel could hear McKay across the small room, tapping his stylette on his computer tablet and talking to Radek. Rodney's exasperation was easily discernible with each irritable, sharp tap of his pen on the computer screen. Tap…tap…tap.

The urge to snap the stylette between his fingers was almost tangible. Watching the ocean waves roll onward wave after wave after wave was not soothing.

It made sense why people fished with dynamite.

Sheppard followed McKay's pacing and sharp circling through the reflection in the glass.

Apparently things in the labs were not running as quickly or as cleanly as Rodney had hoped. The scientist was hunched over, tapping away with one hand, waving the other and uttering short impatient staccato "No. no. no." over and over again. It matched the tap….tap…tap.

Carson continued to attempt to foil Biro's efforts at giving him a cursory physical. Not that Sheppard didn't blame the guy. He hurt. At one point Beckett had confessed even his hair hurt. The colonel couldn't be completely sure if it was due to the memories of Michael or the actual illness.

Influenza. Run of the mill influenza. If one could call such an illness ordinary. It was Earth borne, not avian, which put a pause in McKay's building panic. Not the dreaded Iowa/Swine strain, not even the Spanish flu. Just an ordinary, debilitating, ho-hum strain. The bland variety of influenza, the kind a vaccine should have handled.

Not all vaccines are 100. Imagine.

People could be contagious a day before symptoms set in and up to five days during the illness. Atlantis didn't lock down on them so it was becoming more and more obvious Carson hadn't been contagious that first day.

Beckett was contagious now. Aerosol transmission. And the way Carson had been coughing for the last six hours. Rodney and himself were sure to have been exposed.

Maybe their vaccine would offer better protection. However, Sheppard couldn't squelch his fear that perhaps the ATA gene somehow interfered with the vaccines efficacy. He hoped not, but kept his musings to himself.

He and Rodney would end up killing one another before five days were up and were more likely to take out Beckett. Well maybe not Carson, he was sick after all, but they had considered dragging his bed outside onto the balcony and closing the door on him. Luckily for Beckett his bed was wider than the balcony doors.

The cot would fit, so they at least had a back up plan. They'd rig a safety harness or something if they had to. Maybe then they'd get some sleep tonight.

Sheppard rubbed the crook of his arm. If Biro drew any more blood from him, he'd consider drawing blood from her.

Quarantine was getting to him. It was making his skin crawl. Bungee jumping from the balcony with bed sheets tied around his ankle seemed almost feasible and within the realm of acceptable and reasonable.

He sighed at his uncharitable thoughts and turned his attention back to Lorne who now droned on about a Jumper that got hung up in a tree. He wasn't to worry though; Ronon, Halling and Teyla managed to get Jinto's pet pig like creature out of the engine pod.

Sheppard really didn't want the details. He was to be assured no one was gravely injured during the mishap, but they'd be eating Athosian pork for the next few days.

The colonel turned his attention back to Beckett and Biro. The pathologist fired off questions.

"Chest hurt?"

Carson simply dipped his chin.

"Where?" Sheppard had furrowed his brow at her question, thinking the chest was pretty self-explanatory. However, Beckett seemed to understand and simply rubbed at his sternum with a heavy hand, favoring the right side.

"Headache?"

A nod and a breathless, "Aye."

"Ear ache?"

A careful shake of the head and muttered 'No'.

"Sore throat?"

A nod and a whimper. The production of a culture swab had Beckett groaning and trying to roll away. Without being asked to, and hoping to speed things up and get at least one person out of the cramped quarters, Sheppard merely placed a knee on the bed near Beckett's head and prevented him from rolling away.

Biro swabbed Carson's throat. Beckett gagged and coughed. Sheppard removed his knee and went back to leaning on the glass and listen to Lorne discuss the problems that developed between the marine biology department and biochemists. It sounded like a Weir issue more than a military one. Lorne would need to learn not to borrow trouble. Scientists would squabble over the smallest things.

Sheppard silently thought they should all be thrown into a cell together and left for a few days. They'd either kill one another or work out their problems.

He stared back over to McKay who now walked in tight circles cradling the computer against his forearm and tapping irritably on its screen.

Rodney paused in his tight circling and stared at something on the floor. A rumpled shirt, probably one of Carson's. McKay toed it, furrowed his brow and then stared accusingly across the room at Sheppard.

"You cheated!" McKay declared incredulously. "I can't believe you cheated."

The Colonel raised his eyebrows with indignity, completing the look with a hand to his chest. Not a bad rebuttal for body language. It worked to irritate McKay so all was good. Besides he didn't need to cheat, perse, he was just an opportunist. Sheppard shrugged his shoulders, dismissing Rodney's claim, much to the annoyance and indignation of the scientist.

McKay's withering stare was improving_. It was almost as intimidating as Sr. Johnette's. Now there was a person who could scowl._ Sheppard shivered at the memory.

Lorne was still prattling on about a scuffle that erupted between the scientists yesterday.

Locking them up in a small room seemed like a favorable idea, perhaps entertaining for those on the outside.

Sheppard amended his thoughts. It would be cruel and inhuman to lock people in close quarters for too long.

The Colonel leaned against the glass, feeling the smothering weight of lethargy born of inactivity. Watching Rodney was a step above counting swells.

McKay, apparently, no longer spoke to Radek, but instead took someone else to task. Sheppard couldn't find any hint of sympathy for either party.

"No, Dr. Beckett," Biro sounded tired and put out as she redirected his hand and captured his wrist. With her boss down she was having to run the medical department.

It seemed the second in commands in Atlantis were having to put out small fires left and right. It was wearing on them.

Good.

Sheppard took some twisted joy in knowing that Lorne struggled with what he had to handle everyday.

Beckett twisted his wrist free of Biro and tried to roll over.

Something Lorne said grabbed his attention.

"No, Major, no one goes back to that planet until after the wet season." Sheppard sighed and, placing his knee back on the bed, he listened to his second in command. Lorne continued to talk, repeating the argument he had been given. Sheppard snapped, "I don't care what Smitty and his department of bugs want. You don't go." The colonel pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

Beckett solidly bumped his shoulder and back into Sheppard's bent knee and whimpered in frustration. "Carson, just…" The colonel stopped himself. Through the clothing, Sheppard could feel the heat of the fever. Beckett continued to lean against his knee, neither fighting its presence nor maneuvering away from it.

Why did Carson have to find comfort in their presence? Why did Michael have to lurk like a dark spectre in the tenacious grip of a fever? Or the faces of the dead come to life with the setting of the sun, and deepening of shadows.

For a moment, Sheppard felt his anger boil at the physician. It receded as rapidly as it rose.

Biro stole a quick glance upward and briefly caught Sheppard's tired eyes. Her look only conveyed understanding and empathy. She smartly trapped Carson's hand again, extended the arm, pushing up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, slapped the tourniquet around it and drew her blood sample in smooth well practiced motions.

"Only a few more days, Colonel." The tourniquet was released with a snap and the new blood sample was dropped into the igloo container with the other full blood tubes, contributed by McKay and himself. "You're in day two. Symptoms are usually the worst the first three days, then it's a long recovery with plenty of sleep. If you show no signs of virus after tomorrow, we'll get you and Dr. McKay back to your respective quarters."

"Why not now?" Sheppard's question was uttered before he gave it thought.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed McKay had stopped moving, clicked his radio off and stared from Biro to Beckett up to Sheppard.

The pathologist paused, hesitating. She then carefully and methodically snapped the igloo cooler closed and slowly stood from the edge of Beckett's bed. The bulky orange containment suit unfolded with dull snaps.

"His fever will climb again tonight," she intoned quietly.

Carson merely curled onto his side, breathing through his mouth, further chapping dry lips and hunkered back down into his blankets. A chain of raw soft coughs seared its way free, forcing a dull moan and a tightening curl.

Biro didn't pat his shoulder this time, or offer reassurances or even look at the two men who stood waiting for her answer.

This morning's mention of Michael had placed a pall over the early morning debriefing. Ronon scowled a little more angrily. Teyla hovered near the entrance to the corridor which led here. Lorne had simply thinned his lips and wanted ordinances checked. It was nothing concrete, no forewarning of danger to come. The news had leached its way to the city's inhabitants. It simply rekindled a sense of loss, frustration, sympathy and the fear of not truly knowing what had happened over a two day time period. Rumors flew like wild fire through a small boat, despite attempts to keep things quiet. For as large and extensive as the city was, the expedition was relatively small and close knit.

There were no real secretes in Atlantis, but there was a respect for privacy.

There was no loss that wasn't felt by everyone in the city. There was no pain or misfortune that wasn't shared by all on some level.

The comedic like humor that captured the city last night at the thought of its three department heads quarantine together had slipped and taken on a darker more concerned air this day.

Biro turned and headed for the door. She carefully stepped over Dr. McKay's boots, avoided a King of Diamonds partially obscured by a discarded shirt and ignored the discarded blue shorts in the corner. A playing card, a club of some sort, peeked out from under the sole of another shoe.

"Biro?"

Sheppard and McKay followed after her. Sheppard kicked irritably at Beckett's right boot, the left one had yet to be found. Not that they looked, or at the moment really cared. The boot skidded a few feet before coming to rest at the bathroom door, its energy transferred and absorbed by the pile of damp discarded towels.

They were out of towels.

McKay took longer in a bathroom than a girl going to the prom.

Sheppard didn't think he had another five minutes in him let alone another day.

Why had Biro kept them here? What had she been thinking? They could have donned disposable containment suits and returned to their own quarters. Why the games?

Sheppard felt his blood boil.

He purposely stepped on a pair of McKay's discarded boxers. It gave him little satisfaction, especially after Rodney had wiped the steamed mirror clean with Sheppard's missing t-shirt this morning.

And what's the big deal about using the wrong toothbrush anyway? First one up got the pick of dry toothbrushes. Beckett's had been carefully removed from the bathroom earlier.

Rodney had some weird quirks. Sheppard really couldn't face another night of Beckett moaning, groaning and coughing or McKay. The scientist never slept. He was up and down, all night long, tapping on his computer, talking on his radio, pacing back and forth and then telling Carson to quiet down, because people were trying to sleep.

The colonel followed the pathologist/internist to the door. There had better be a good explanation for keeping them all trapped together, when they could do it alone in their own space.

Completely alone and unbothered. Isolated. Castaways, well maybe Ginger or Mary Ann could join his cast of castaways. Cut off. Kept apart….Alone. Trapped.

The fight left Sheppard's face as understanding was realized.

At the door to the quarters Biro stopped, turned and after a moment raised her head. As she began to nod her concession to allow them to suffer quarantine alone in their own quarters, she recognized the spark of understanding in Sheppard's eyes.

"Try to get him to drink more. I'd rather not have to use an IV." Her voice held the hint of relief. "Give the antihistamine tonight. It might help him sleep easier."

"What?" McKay stammered. "Why do we have to stay here cooped up?"

"We don't, Rodney. If you want to leave, I'm sure Biro's group has suit you can use to get back to your quarters."

"Why are you staying then?" And as he asked the question, his mind processed all the extenuating the data that had been heard, observed and left unspoken. It was broken down to bare components, segregated, digested, shuffled, reprocessed and numerous answers availed themselves from most likely to least. It was all done before Sheppard finished speaking.

He snapped his gaze to across the room and stared at the single blanketed bump in the bed.

Beckett shouldn't have to face Michael alone again, or the loss of Perna, or feel the sting of Barroso's death.

McKay had been the only one with Gall when Gall had….McKay gritted his teeth against the memory. He didn't want to live Beckett's trials and failures or whatever you called them, but even more, he wouldn't want to live through the loss of Gall, or Grodin, or Dumais or Griffin or any of them again.

He wouldn't want Sheppard or Beckett or Teyla or Ronon, no one actually, to relive those moments either. Not even his worst enemy.

Rodney hadn't been alone when Grodin had died, but had wished he had been alone. He had been alone when Griffin sacrificed himself, but had wished he hadn't been.

It was a paradox he had done his best to ignore. It was extraneous and emotional and not necessary to unravel in order to keep Atlantis running.

But truth was, if he had to face any of those losses again, maybe there would be some comfort in having friends nearby.

Or maybe not.

He didn't know. He'd want to think that he could handle it alone, again. He wouldn't want Sheppard or any of the others to bear witness to his private pain born from his own perceived personal failures. Failures he equated with his own tailored brand of weakness. Right or wrong.

He did not want anyone to bear witness to them. In fact, Rodney was confident, that he would not want to share those burdens because it would mean he'd have to relive them. It was a pain he wished not to revisit or have anyone witness, for fear they would judge him harsher than he judged himself.

He stared at Beckett or more accurately the back of Beckett's exposed ankle and heel.

Carson, often, bared his pain on his sleeve, the shallow cuts and disappointments. They were easily read in his expressions, mannerisms and even speech. But the deeper wounds, those he coveted for himself. They were private. The loss of Perna was never brought to conversation by him and they respected his silence. The interrogation under Michael's control was still all but a mystery. They had pried then. For the sake of Atlantis, maybe even for Carson's benefit, but in reality it was for the good of the expedition that they had dug into Beckett and searched for clues of Michael's meddling. Not that Carson tried to hide anything from them, or at least the information that might have been potentially garnered from him that concerned Atlantis security. Michael had covered his tracks so to speak. The loss of Barroso wasn't mentioned except in the official report. There were countless other losses as well. Those in the surgery suites, the gate room, even in the corridors during the siege. Truth was you can't save them all. Rodney had to wonder, however, if Carson had ever lost so many before coming to Atlantis. Probably not.

Rodney never concerned himself about what people held private and why. It didn't concern him, and in all honesty he really didn't care. If it made him callous, so be it.

However, it was the privacy of the individual he respected more.

If someone wanted to speak about a personal trial, chances were he truly didn't want to listen, but it didn't mean he wouldn't if he found himself trapped or cornered. Worse, he feared that whatever was said would affect him later when his mind took a sharp turn left instead of right.

Often times it did affect him when he least expected it. He didn't want other people's problems or pains jumping to the forefront of his mind while he needed to concentrate on more important things. He didn't need to borrow anyone else's baggage. He had enough of his own, thank you very much.

_Let Heightmeyer deal with that stuff, it's what she did_.

However, if he could prevent someone from reliving a past nightmare alone, then perhaps he would act. For one of his teammates, and for Carson, yes, yes he would intervene.

He wouldn't like it but he'd do it.

Rodney didn't need to know why Beckett kept his deeper losses and fears silent. McKay really didn't care to know what really went on in the medical polluted brain of Carson's. However, he did understand about being there for someone.

"I might as well keep you company, Colonel." McKay mentally kicked himself for his act of charity.

He strode away from the duo, tapping his communication device. "Radek? What useless thing has McDermit done now? And tell Langholtz he is not allowed near the Jumpers."

Rodney dismissed Biro and Sheppard's presence.

He swooped up his tablet from the desk top, knocking a tattered, washed out tan hat from the corner of the desk to the floor. McKay ignored it and once again tried to untangle the knotted mess his lesser scientists had made of all his careful work over the last day.

Sheppard offered Biro a crooked grin, "I guess we're staying."

Biro's whispered; "thank-you" was almost missed but completely ignored. It wasn't necessary.

"Oh and we're going to need another deck of cards." Sheppard spoke loud enough for his voice to carry across the room. "McKay keeps trying to tuck them into his boot and losing them."

"The King of Clubs was in your boot, Colonel," Biro quietly intoned, as she stepped out the opening door and through the plastic containment curtain. Her grateful smile never dipped.


End file.
